Writing: The Creative Process

John Steinbeck used to write his books in longhand with a pencil. Can you imagine? Sometimes my typing on the computer can’t keep up with how fast I think. How did Steinbeck deal with that delay between thought and medium? On the other hand, there’s something to be said about creating with hands-on earthy tools.

For East of Eden, Steinbeck utilized a huge blank book, writing thoughts and letters (mostly to his editor) on the left side while writing the actual book on the right side. The journaling helped shape his ideas for characters, plot and settings. And when he got stuck on the book, he would return to the journaling to hash things out. It was like a creative dialogue with himself. The problem, of course, was the necessity of having to type up his manuscript for publication during the pre-digital age. But by the time of East of Eden, Steinbeck was already a famous and established author, with Grapes of Wrath and other books under his belt. He occasionally mailed this workbook to his New York editor, who had a secretary type it up, then sent the workbook back to the author. Perks of success, but the mind boggles at how much the future Nobel laureate trusted the US Mail with the only copy of his masterpiece!

Writing on paper. I’m not sure if I can do that anymore, specifically because of the need to type everything again in a word processor. But I do write songs the old-fashioned way, sitting at my piano with manuscript paper and pencil in hand. I can’t seem to get myself to write or arrange music directly from keyboard through MIDI and into notation software. I don’t want to record myself playing a new song idea either until the song is fully developed. No, I treasure the feel of pencil, eraser and manuscript paper all in front of me at my piano. I even constructed a “desk” that floats above my keyboard specifically for the purpose of writing. (See photo above.)

Yes, I save everything, every scrap of paper for every single musical idea, all filed away in a “half-baked” folder. Sometimes I write a song where the words are terrific but the melody not so. A few months later, I might pull it out and realize, hey, these lyrics are in rhyme and meter! Let’s put a better melody to it. Voila! New song!

The songwriting process is more concise than the book writing process. I go back again to Steinbeck’s inner dialogue with himself, how journaling influenced the book and vice versa. With two major books on my writing agenda, maybe it’s good idea to talk with myself in this way.

Journal of a Novel: The East of Eden Letters

Mountain of God

With all the skiiing and snowboarding at the Winter Olympics, I am reminded of my youth group at St. Monica Parish in Moraga, California. Here is a reflection that first appeared a few years ago on the old artist blog page on spiritandsong.com.

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There’s something about a mountain that conjures up a lot of mental images: rustic beauty; a vacation getaway; a challenge to be climbed and conquered. For teenagers in a youth group, “mountain” means an important high school ritual: the annual ski and snowboard trip! As youth minister at St. Monica Parish in Moraga, California, I learned early that this was probably the most important activity of the year for my teens. Kids who were only minimally involved at church suddenly came out of the woodwork when the ski trip was announced.

So there I was at Boreal Ski Resort at Lake Tahoe, talking amicably with the other adult chaperones in the lodge as our 40-plus teenagers happily charged down the slopes. Suddenly, a couple of girls burst in looking for me. “Ken! Ken!” The adult group looked up with concern. “It’s Nick!” Of course, it had to be Nick.

Nick was one of those “minimally involved” teens. Not really a regular at our weekly youth ministry meetings, he always showed up for lock-ins, summer workcamp, and ski trips. Dark-haired and slender, Nick was a gregarious and outgoing risk taker who always kept a wise-guy shell around himself. Every group has a disruptor, and I could always count on Nick to tell the most outrageous non-sequitur jokes during group discussions, or give a silly intention as we went around the circle during prayer. What had he done now?

Nick came limping in, his arms around two other boys as they walked him slowly into the lodge. “He tried to do a Jonny Moseley,” they told me, referring to the young man who had just won a gold medal for his outrageous hot-dogging ski maneuvers at the recent Winter Olympics. Nick apparently attempted a 360 aerial and found out quickly that he was no Jonny Moseley.

We sat him down and it became obvious that Nick needed medical attention immediately. His limbs weren’t broken, but he complained of a pounding headache. By now, a large group of our teens had heard about Nick’s escapade, and they swarmed into the lodge, worried about their friend. The injured youth put up a macho front in front of his peers, but he was clearly in pain. I went with Nick to the hospital in the lodge ambulance. The staff had put him in a neck brace and each bump on the mountain road made him wince.

Gone was the wisecracking Eddie Murphy persona. Nick was now just a scared kid. Realizing that I had to call his parents, Nick looked at me with pleading eyes and said, “Go easy when you talk to my mom. Don’t scare her, Ken. Please!” I promised him I wouldn’t as they took him in for x-rays.

I called Nick’s mom, who was trying her best to be calm, but her anxious voice betrayed her concern. As she gave me insurance information, I assured her that I would be with her son the whole time in the hospital and would keep her informed.

Returning to ER, I found Nick lying on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. I had never seen him so quiet and helpless. I decided to take a page out of his book and started cracking jokes, asking him if he enjoyed the attention of all the pretty nurses. Nick gave a slight smile and we started trading quips and one-liners over the course of the afternoon. Eventually, we prayed together, a Hail Mary and a spontaneous prayer for protection and good health.

“I’m sorry, Ken,” he said after we prayed. I had never seen Nick so serious before. “I didn’t mean to cause you so much trouble.”

“It’s all right, Nick. Just take it easy and relax. All your friends in our youth group are praying for you.” He smiled and grasped my hand.

Eventually, the medical staff came in, examined Nick, and showed us the x-rays. Nick’s neck wasn’t broken, thank God; only badly sprained. We had a long bus trip home and the doctor gave me some painkiller pills that the patient was supposed to take every half hour or so. Nick and I were both relieved that his injury had not been serious. We also had a new understanding of each other. After two hours together in a tense, uncertain situation, Nick gained a new respect for my commitment to youth ministry. I learned there was more depth to this young man than he was letting on.

On the bus trip home, Nick sat in back with his friends as the conquering hero. I stayed in front because I didn’t want it to look like I was “baby-sitting” him. Occasionally, I went to check on him and give him his painkillers. The laughter that came from the back was reassuring.

Finally, after a long three-hour journey, we were back at the parish, and Nick’s mom was there to greet us. She was relieved to see her son was all right. After shaking hands, Nick walked gingerly with his mom to their car. Then he turned around and walked straight back to me. Macho Nick was not known to be an affectionate guy, but he came back to give me a hug.

“Thanks for everything, Ken,” he said, smiling. “I’ll see you next week at youth group.” And he did come back every week after that. No longer a “minimally involved” teen, Nick became an active member of our group. We had been to the mountain, taking on the simple challenge of getting to know each other better.

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Note: I wrote the song Mountain of God with Marc Cavallero and Dan Brennan, who were part of our youth group and on this ski trip. Those were fun times! The awesome teens of St. Monica youth ministry of the 1990s are all grown up now, into their lives and careers and families. I still stay in touch with a few of them on Facebook. God is good!

Old Man Salinger (A Tribute)

If you really want to hear about it, The Catcher in the Rye is responsible for more first-person, angst-driven, teen-oriented literature than any other piece of fiction out there. And don’t get me started on movies, television, plays and other forms of prostitution that feature a young rebel protagonist all hell-bent against the establishment, you know what I mean? Bunch of phonies. I hate phonies.

Rock songs are okay. I wish we had Green Day, Third Eye Blind and The Offspring back in the 1940s. Those guys know angst. All we had when I was a kid was that goddam Sinatra who made the bobby soxers scream and swoon like nobody’s business. “Frankie! Frankie!” I’m not kidding. I’ll take Green Day’s “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” any day over Ol’ Blue Eyes’ “I’ll Never Smile Again.”

You know what’s the best thing about Catcher in the Rye? No movie version! That means no dilution of Old Man Salinger’s pure vision, if you want to call it pure. All the hacks came knocking on JD’s door, from Sam Goldwyn and Billy Wilder, to Steven Spielberg and Tobey Maguire and even Marlon Brando, for chrissake. JD just laughed in their faces and told them where to stuff themselves. That killed me.

So all these high school English teachers have ol’ JD to thank for giving the world a literary classic their students have to actually read instead of taking the coward’s way out and watching the movie. Yeah, there’s always the Cliff Notes version, but everybody knows Cliff Notes suck, you know? Once teenagers started actually reading about my adventures they entered into the magical world of books. No lie! JD, take a bow!

Anyway, Old Man Salinger did it his way. Sure, the guy was reclusive as Big Foot, but what rule says an author has to prostitute himself with marketing and merchandising? With absolutely no media adaptations to speak of, Catcher in the Rye still sells 250,000 copies a year! I’m not kidding. And the book is on just about everybody’s list of Top 100 novels of the 20th century, including Time and Modern Library, if that means anything to you.

The fact of the matter is, Catcher in the Rye succeeded solely on the basis of its merit as good literature. That’s it! What more could a writer want?

So rest easy, JD. Me and Phoebe and DB and Allie and Mr. Antolini all exist in the collective subconscious of several generations of teenagers, because of you! That’s all I’m going to tell about it.

Respectfully,
Holden Caulfield

PS: I’m still wondering where all the ducks in Central Park go when winter hits. That kills me.

Catcher in the Rye author hailed


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John Fischer: The Ecumenical Bridge Man

It was 1970 and I was a junior at Queen of Angels High School Seminary in San Fernando, California. The Folk Mass had just been approved in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles and we seminarians were tearing through the exciting new repertory like hungry high school boys at a barbecue cookout – which, come to think of it, is exactly what we were.

Please understand that our archdiocese was apparently one of the last in America to jump on the Folk Mass bandwagon. So my first two years in high school and, in fact, my entire childhood’s church music experience, was with the organ and with Gregorian chant. Oh, we were singing in English, make no mistake about that. Our hymnal was the popular Peoples Mass Book published by World Library of Sacred Music. Our favorite hymns included such titles as “Where Charity and Love Prevail,” “Sing Praise to Our Creator,” “Star Upon the Ocean,” “O King of Might and Splendor,” “Keep in Mind,” and other organ standards of the 1960s. But once we were empowered with the Folk Mass everything changed.

I actually started learning to play the organ as a sophomore just so I could be musically involved in the liturgy. In junior year I decided to learn guitar as well. That early music was fun and easy to perform: Bro. Gregory Ballerino’s “Come, Let Us Worship;” Peter Scholtes’ “They’ll Know We Are Christians;” and, of course, the flood of songs that flowed from Ray Repp.

But we seminarians quickly tired of playing just four-chord songs that seemed like they were written for children. We wanted something cooler and groovier. Hey, it was the early 1970s! We wanted to sing music that spoke to us like the secular music of the time, when the Beatles were singing “Let It Be,” and Simon & Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Water” was soaring over the airwaves. Yeah, we tried to sing those songs at Mass but got in trouble for it with our music director.

So one Saturday a bunch of us musically-inclined students piled into the seminary van and attended a “New Repertory” workshop sponsored by the archdiocese at Mt. St. Mary’s College. I was hoping to actually see some composers like Ray Repp or Paul Quinlan but they weren’t available. Instead, we got some local parish music directors (adults) who led us in mostly organ-driven repertory. My classmates were visibly disappointed although, as a school organist, I was secretly enjoying myself.

Then, a group of high school musicians took the stage with guitars, bass and percussion. The guys suddenly sat up and took notice, but I’m not sure if it was because of the music or because of the cute girls who were in the group. (Um, did I mention we were high school seminarians?) Anyway, after all these years, I forget where this group was from but when they launched into a song called “The Road of Life” my buddies and I beamed at each other with approval. This song had a good rockin’ groove and awesome lyrics about looking for meaning in life.

The group leader took the mic and told us about the composer. “We like to sing the songs of John Fischer. He’s a new composer for FEL Publications and he rocks.” I could see some of the older priests and nuns in the audience starting to get uncomfortable. “Here is one of our favorite songs by Mr. Fischer.” They started playing a song in 3/4 time that had a very interesting chord sequence.

Have you seen, Jesus my Lord?
He’s here in plain view.
Take a look, open your eyes.
He’ll show it to you.

It wasn’t really a fast song but it wasn’t slow either, with an undeniably catchy groove that I later in life came to identify as gospel-blues. But that song was it! The guys and I were sold. We snatched up the Fischer songbooks and records and rode the van back to the seminary, eager to try out this new music at Mass.

“Jesus, My Lord” was an immediate hit at the seminary, although one English professor challenged me to explain the antecedent to “it” in the refrain. I was at a loss to give an explanation and, frankly, I didn’t care. I was just happy to have some cool new music to play and sing at liturgy.

I composed my very first Mass setting, Liturgy of the Fire of Love, for our graduation Baccalaureate Mass. But the highlight of that liturgy was our baccalaureate song, John Fischer’s “The Road of Life.” We joyfully sang it for the Sending Forth Song and even marched out of the church while singing, guitars and all.

Walkin’ down the road of life,
got a cause to sing.
Happiness is in my blood,
my guitar will ring . . .

I later found out that John Fischer wasn’t even a Catholic, and I thought it was so cool to sing a Baptist composer’s songs at Mass. As the liturgy evolved and grew over the decades, Fischer’s songs were no longer sung at Catholic liturgy, the fate of most of the original Folk Mass repertory. But I did listen to Christian radio and was always pleased to hear John Fischer’s latest songs. He was apparently doing well in the new contemporary Christian music field and I was happy for him.

Fast forward several years. In the early 2000s I decided to write a book about the Folk Mass, mostly because nobody else had done so yet; and also because I had actually lived through a lot of those heady days, not only as a young musician but also as a staff person for FEL Publications, a job I landed in my college years almost by pure luck. I had the monumental task of gathering research material, tracking down the composers, and interviewing them. One of my biggest thrills was finding and interviewing Ray Repp, and perhaps I will write about that in a future blog.

But there was one favorite composer who I really wanted to connect with: John Fischer. He was mostly forgotten in Catholic circles. And, as I started digging through the Internet, I found that Fischer’s Protestant audience had no inkling of his roots as a Catholic Folk Mass composer. There was a good story here of a man who bridged both sides of the Christian community. I eventually found Fischer’s email address and wrote to him to see if he was interested in an interview. To my grateful surprise, John sent me his phone number.

I called a couple of times, nervous about what I would say to this composer whom I had admired for so long, but I only got his answering machine. The third time was the charm. John answered the phone himself, happy to speak with me. I flipped on my tape recorder for a revealing hour-long conversation.

You can read what I wrote about the man on pages 94-95 of Keep the Fire Burning. But one thing I didn’t include was John’s surprise that Catholics remember him at all.

“Are you kidding, John? We sang ‘Road of Life’ at my high school graduation. Many of my parishes sang ‘Trust and Obey’ and ‘Death Is Swallowed Up.’ And ‘Jesus, My Lord’ became a theme song for the ecumenical Cursillo retreat movement in San Francisco in the 1980s.”

I closed our conversation with thanks, not only for the interview but for all he has given to the Church – the larger Church that includes all Catholic and Protestant Christians. John was very moved, and that’s another reason I wrote the book: to let those original Folk Mass composers know how much we remember them and appreciate them.

Hear John Fischer’s music on my latest Keep the Fire Burning podcast, accessible in three ways:

• www.kencanedo.com
  
• RSS subscription feed
  
• iTunes

Keep the Fire Burning is available on Amazon.com.

More information on John Fischer from his own website: The Fischtank

The Visit from the Spirit of Christmas Past

Sorry I've been away for a couple of weeks. Out-of-state visitors, holiday events, and numerous choir rehearsals have kept me more than busy. Here is a new Spirit Spot blog I just wrote for spiritandsong.com.

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I try to avoid the secular trappings of Christmas. During December I prefer to focus on Advent, praying the poetry of Isaiah and Zephaniah, marveling at the message of John the Baptist, and singing the gorgeous Advent music. But “secular Xmas,” as I like to call it, is so overwhelmingly pervasive, hitting us like a sledgehammer on TV commercials, in newspaper ads, and at the shopping mall. I avoid getting a Christmas tree until December 24, and then I leave the decorations up until the Baptism of the Lord in January. Despite my best Advent intentions, I still have Christmas parties to attend, gift shopping to do, and Christmas music to rehearse with my choirs.

My friends think I’m weird and don’t understand my Christmas hesitancy. “Bah, humbug” is indeed a tempting response. It’s easy to be cynical.

So there I was, alone in my seasonal tug-of-war at the local grocery store, which just happened to be hosting a “Breakfast with Santa” event that morning for children. I balked. No way was I going to walk in on yet another “secular Xmas” happening. But I really needed eggs and bread so into the store I went. I was immediately charmed. . .

Click here to continue reading on www.spiritandsong.com.

Alternative Christmas Giving

So let me get this straight. During the month of December we rush around in frenzied shopping sprees at crowded malls to buy gifts for our loved ones with money that we don’t have. Meanwhile, our loved ones are doing the same. Then, on Christmas morning, we give these carefully selected treasures to these loved ones who, in turn, gift us with their treasures. As presents are opened we get to practice our well-honed acting chops:

(Gasp) “Honey, you shouldn’t have!” (Translation: Really, you shouldn’t have.)

“How did you know?” (Translation: I didn’t know I wanted this either.)

“Just what I always wanted!” (Translation: NOT!)

Kisses and hugs are exchanged as holiday cheer ensues. Several hours later, we are home alone with our newly acquired pile of gifts, trying to figure out what the heck we will do with all this stuff. More than likely, our loved ones are thinking the exact same thing as they stare at their presents. Then, in January, the credit card bills arrive. Pass the aspirin, if you can afford it.

There's so much stuff from Christmas that gets accumulated and crammed into closets, so much money spent, so much debt incurred, and so many feelings hurt or disappointed. In response, there is great temptation to become like Scrooge and just say, “Bah! Humbug!”

Okay, maybe I’m being a tad cynical, and I apologize. Certainly, the idea behind our seasonal gift exchange is beautiful, but the commercialism that surrounds it leaves at least this blogger with a bad taste of rancid eggnog in his mouth. Is there a better way?

I think it helps to remember that Christmas is Jesus' birthday. What present am I giving to Jesus on this day? Isn't that what the whole gift exchange idea is about? Is there some way I can honor Jesus, express my love for my family and friends, cut down on consumerism, and help those less fortunate who are so close to Jesus' heart? All at the same time? The answer is a huge resounding "Yes!"

Several years ago, a friend introduced me to the concept of "alternative giving." The concept is simple. Instead of stressing out at the mall or spending oodles of money on postage trying to beat the mailing deadline for your present, you simply give a monetary donation to a worthy cause in the name of the person you are gifting. Give your loved one a card expressing that a donation was made in his/her honor. The organization to which you are donating often has gift cards ready-made that you can use for this very occasion.

The friends that I have gifted in this way are often overwhelmed by the sheer simplicity of this concept. It's so easy and beautiful, and so giving. In the process, Jesus is honored by your remembering those in need.

Here are a few website links to get you started in exploring the wonderful concept of alternative giving. Do a Google search and you will find several more. And don't forget your local food bank or soup kitchen, or the Salvation Army.

Mercy Corps: Mercy Corps exists to alleviate suffering, poverty and oppression by helping people build secure, productive and just communities.

UNICEF: UNICEF is the driving force that helps build a world where the rights of every child are realized. We believe that nurturing and caring for children are the cornerstones of human progress.

CARE: CARE is a leading humanitarian organization fighting global poverty. We place special focus on working alongside poor women because, equipped with the proper resources, women have the power to help whole families and entire communities escape poverty.

Heifer International: Exciting concept! Choose a meaningful gift to give a loved one and help children and families around the world receive training and animal gifts that help them become self-reliant.

Catholic Charities USA: Working to reduce poverty in America

Food for the Poor: Food For The Poor is the number one international relief and development charity in the United States, feeding 2 million poor everyday.

So Merry Christmas! And God bless us, everyone!

Get the Door!

Note: I have used this old story for years in various ministerial settings. I last posted it in my old artist blog page on www.spiritandsong.com.


Advent! What are we waiting for? For whom do we wait?

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There once was a man named Charles who received a very special telephone call.

“Hello!” said Charles.

“Hello, my son,” said a warm and compelling voice on the other side.

“Who is this?” Charles asked.

“Jesus.”

“Jesus. Yeah, right,” said Charles, skeptically. “Prove it.”

And, as he had done long ago with the Samaritan woman, Jesus proceeded to tell the man everything he had ever done. Convinced, Charles was beside himself in awe.

“My Lord! To what do I owe the honor of this phone call?”

“My son, I want to visit you today.”

“You want to visit me? Really?” Charles became very excited. “How about tonight for dinner?”

“I cannot tell you the exact hour,” said Jesus, “but yes, tonight for dinner would be fine.”

“Great! Do you need directions?” Charles immediately felt foolish. “Oh, sorry, Lord. I’m sure you already know where I live. See you tonight.”

“Blessings, my son.”

And with that, Charles hung up the phone. Jesus was coming to visit him for dinner! He then looked around his modest home in horror. The place was a mess and there was nothing in the fridge. There was so much to do! It was already 1:00 in the afternoon. He barely had enough time to clean up, go shopping, and cook.

Jesus was coming! Charles gathered the newspapers and magazines that were lying all over the house and finally put them in recycling. He threw his dirty clothes in the washing machine and started vacuuming and dusting. He placed the finest linen on the table and set out his best china.

Jesus was coming! The grocery store was overcrowded and Charles was getting impatient while waiting in the checkout line. He had already decided that Jesus might enjoy a tasty lamb stew with potatoes and an assortment of vegetables. He also took care to choose the best bread and wine he could find.

Jesus was coming! Charles was ready to burst and tell everyone in the market who his guest would be for dinner, but then he thought, “No, I better not. I want Jesus all to myself.”

Jesus was coming! Nothing was too good for his Lord! The lamb stew was simmering slowly and Charles was rolling the dough for an apple pie when he heard a knock on the door. “Who could that be?” Charles thought as he looked at his watch, annoyed. When he opened the door he was aghast to find a homeless man at his doorstep, wearing tattered clothing and looking quite unkempt.

“Please sir,” said the homeless man. “I have not eaten in several days and I smelled the delicious cooking from your kitchen. May I trouble you for something to eat?”

Charles could not believe the nerve of this total stranger coming to his door and asking for food! “I’m sorry, but I’m a little busy right now. I have in important guest coming for dinner tonight. Why don’t you go over to the mission downtown? They’ll have something for you.” And before the homeless man could even respond, Charles closed the door on him. It was almost four o’clock.

Jesus was coming! Everything was cooking and baking and now Charles was ironing his best shirt when he heard another knock on the door. “Now what?” he thought as he looked at his watch, annoyed. When he opened the door he was surprised to find a little girl who must have been four or five years old. She looked like she was going to cry.

“Please, mister,” said the little girl as she clutched a tiny doll. “I’m lost. I can’t find my house or my mommy.”

Charles sighed deeply. Why was this happening to him? He wasn’t comfortable around children and he didn’t know what to do. “Look,” said Charles to the girl. “I don’t know how I can help you. Why don’t you go next door and ask them?” And the little girl walked away crying as Charles closed the door on her. I was almost five o’clock.

Jesus was coming! Everything was now in place. The table was set, the delicious food was on the table in covered warmers, the candles were lit and the wine was uncorked. It was six o’clock and Charles was ready for a wonderful dinner with his Lord. Then he heard a knock on the door. He practically ran over to greet Jesus and was shocked to find that his brother was on his doorstep! His brother with whom he had not spoken for over fifteen years!

“You!” said Charles, angrily. “I told you I never want to see you again for as long as I live!” And he slammed the door in his brother’s face!

The evening went on as Charles waited for Jesus. Six o’clock passed. Seven o’clock passed. The candles were melting down and the food was getting cold. Eight o’clock passed, as did nine o’clock. Charles couldn’t believe it. After all his trouble to get ready, Jesus had stood him up. Finally, at ten o’clock, the phone rang.

“My son,” said the warm and compelling voice on the other end.

“Oh, Jesus!” said Charles with a hurt tone. “Where have you been? I spent all day getting ready for your visit. I set out the finest meal for you. And you didn’t even have the decency to show up!”

“My son,” said Jesus. “I did visit you, three times! But you never opened the door.”